


A Few Times Steve Got Hurt, and Once Where Bucky Did Too

by nextweekforsure



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: "bucky is understandably pissed", But Didn't, But whatever, M/M, So i was gonna write a 5+1, So is Steve, So yes, Ugh, besides my emo phase and skyrim phase stuff, buck is a little shit, but i dont roll like that i guess, but shh that never happened, but this is the longest thing i've ever written, continuity is hard, i cant spell, i wrote this a while ago and i wanted to post it, pre-war stucky is my jam, relateale, the internet is not good thing sometimes, they're both little shits, this is just buildup and then kissing, yay stucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 21:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10447926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextweekforsure/pseuds/nextweekforsure
Summary: Whenever Steve gets hurt, Bucky cares for him. What happens when Bucky gets hurt, too?





	

Steve was an idiot most of the time. That was the conclusion that Bucky came to whenever he patched him up after a fight. Steve would come back to their shared apartment with a black eye (or two, sometimes the bully was just classy enough to even it out), a split lip, and on rare occasions, a nosebleed. Bucky would sigh in defeat and pick Steve up and set him down on the counter, grabbing one of the already stained (from Steve’s fights) rags, and wiping any trace of blood off of the small man’s face. Steve would wince and complain, but deep down he loved the amount of care Bucky would give him. They would argue a lot about Steve’s fighting habits, which would often lead to Bucky becoming a huge sap and saying shit like how he just didn’t want Steve to get hurt. Steve would go to sleep pondering on that, drifting off with a smile on his face, because goddamnit my best friend is such an idiot, and oh crap I should probably stop thinking about him, it’s getting kind of weird. Bucky thought some of the same things, but more of the sense that Steve was so dumb and needed to stop before he got badly hurt.

Steve and Bucky went to the same high school, so the taller was able to keep an eye on him, making sure to get him out of there before he said something inflammatory. Once, though, Bucky was recruited for the physics team or something, Steve didn’t really care, he was proud of his best friend for it, but he didn’t care enough to stay behind in the classroom with his smart friend. Steve was hungry, though, so he decided to get lunch. Now, without his stud of a best friend to protect him, of course he was going to get into some trouble. Nobody liked Steve Rogers, the colorblind, asthmatic little kid that loved to get in fights, so once, Steve decided to not start something. He was grabbed from behind and pushed down just as he went up to the lunch counter. He turned around, trying to see who his attacker was. The culprit was some grade-12 douche who just loved fights, probably even more than Steve (if that was possible). The difference between them was that this guy was huge and probably won fights, as opposed to Steve, who had won one at most. Steve knew he was screwed, but did that mean he was going to back away or give up his lunch money? Hell no. He might be small and chronically ill, but this little fucker was always hungry. Steve got back up, raising his fists just in front of his face just in time to get knocked back to the floor. The whole room of people was laughing at him, but Steve didn’t care. He continued to get back up and get knocked down, ears ringing from the continuous impact of the floor on his head and the loud sounds of laughter and cheering. 

Right when Steve was knocked into a table, Bucky walked in with the young science teacher, who was giggling, because, well, Bucky pretended to be a gentleman but was really just a teenager. He heard all the chanting coming from the lunchroom, and came to the conclusion that there must have been a fight, but he knew it wasn’t Steve because he had sternly, specifically told him to stay out of fights, right before he went back into the classroom. Bucky confidently walked in and quickly stopped when he even got into the sight range of the lunch counter because goddammit Steve I told you not to do that but guess what you’re getting your ass beat. Bucky did what he always did, stepping in and socking Steve’s attacker in the face. A couple more hits from Bucky and the attacker was unconscious, with no help from Steve at all. The blood on Steve’s tiny right hand showed that he probably had gotten one hit in, or maybe he touched his own face. This attacker went the full nine yards, with kicks to the stomach, face, a broken nose (noses should not curve like that), eyes that looked way redder than they should, and multiple splits on his lips.

Bucky carried a protesting Steve over his shoulder, carefully, all the way back to their apartment. He went about his normal routine of cleaning Steve up, not wary of the blood on his own knuckles until he went to wet a rag, and gasped, dropping the rag because of the pain of the cuts being exposed to running water. Naturally, Steve chose then to stir, opening his eyes. He hadn't really been unconscious, but he didn't want Bucky to think he was taking advantage of him. 

“Buck, are you okay?” Steve asked, hoarsely, staring groggily at Bucky who was clutching his stinging hand. 

“I'm all good, buddy,” Bucky tried to comfort Steve, because the last thing he needed was someone else to worry about. He dropped his hand, which was bleeding again because of the irritation of the water, and picked up the rag to rinse out again. He went back to work on Steve, inspecting his split lip, and lightly dabbing at it with the damp rag. Steve flinched at the contact, and the fact that Bucky was oh-so-close. 

“Stevie, you don't look so good. You should go lie down,” Bucky said with audible concern in his voice. Steve blushed at the nickname, and Bucky chuckled, because Steve always blushed when Bucky called him that. When Steve stayed still, Bucky intervened. “C’mere, you punk. I'll carry ya.” Steve tried to insist that he could walk, but Bucky was stubborn and wouldn't ever take no for an answer. The taller placed Steve on his shoulder carefully, and carried him to their shared room. A one bed, one bath small flat was all they could afford, but Bucky didn't mind, and neither did Steve. They were so codependent that being alone was not something they wanted to do. 

“How are your ribs?” Bucky asked, only then remembering the injury. Steve shrugged, then clutched his shoulder. “You don't have to be brave all the time.” 

“Fine, Bucky. They hurt a lot.”

“Do you want me to go run and get some ice?”

“We can't afford that, Buck.”

“I'll work an extra shift or two. It'll be okay. I'd do anything for you.”

“Bucky, I really can manage.”

“Wait, give me a minute.” Bucky ran out the door, and came back a couple minutes later holding a wooden bowl and a paper bag. Steve sat up, wincing, to inspect the contents. The bowl was full of snow, and the bag was empty. Bucky smirked, relishing in how inventive he was. He scooped the snow into the paper bag, knowing that it would get soggy, but for the time being, it would work, and gave it to Steve, who smiled weakly. 

“See ya later, bud. I'll be here when you wake up.”

Steve found Bucky lying on the couch, fast asleep, hands wrapped in slightly blood stained cloth. Steve thought he was cute, but then again, Steve always thought Bucky was cute. Bucky was definitely asleep, judging by the little snores and grunts he let out infrequently, sounds Steve had learned to recognize, staring down at the sleeping man. His vision blurred in and out of focus, making him believe that he had most likely sustained a concussion. He went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror to inspect his now cleaned and slept on injuries, seeing that these were the worst he had acquired in a while. His hand flitted through his short blond hair, feeling the dried blood that would take a long time under the sink to wash out, and sighed, leaning against the wall opposite. Both of his hands went to his face to trace the bruises, and he stopped at the cut on his lip when someone interjected. 

“I wouldn't touch those, Stevie,” Bucky mused tiredly, having appeared in the doorway, and yawning at the end of his statement. “Don’t want to reopen them.”

“Buck, I can take care of myself.”

“Thing is, you don’t have to. Like I’m always saying, I’m with you till’ the end of the line.” Steve let unmasked happiness come on to his face, and took a couple long steps to engulf the tall man in his arms. Bucky clutched his tiny friend like a vice. Steve almost never initiated physical contact (besides fighting), especially after his mom’s passing. Bucky thought of all of this and tried (and failed) to mask the tears slipping out of his eyes, because this was such a bad time for Steve, and that made Bucky sad too. 

Bucky composed himself as Steve let go, muttering a soft I’m so proud of you, which caused him to glare at the taller one, who just grinned.

“How long did you sleep?” Steve asked, knowing that it couldn’t be long, seeing as everything from earlier was cleaned up, and the sketchbook Steve allowed his friend to look through was out on the table.

“Long enough. What do you need, Stevie?”

“I need you to take care of yourself.”

“Stop worrying about me,” Bucky said in a monotone voice, staring out the window, panic rising on his face. “I really have to go. We can argue about this later.”

“Where?” It was almost 9pm, or at least that’s what their cheap grandfather clock said. Bucky left the room hastily, the befuddled Steve following behind at a less quick pace.

“Don’t be mad, but I had to get another job. I’m ‘tending at Shirley’s down the street.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, when are you supposed to sleep? You’re not even old enough to drink!” Steve went into his overprotective mode. They had nothing, but they had each other, and now Bucky was being taken away. Steve wasn't very happy about that. 

“They just needed some eye candy,” Bucky winked and smirked at Steve, who still looked extremely pissed off. “I promise you, I’ll be okay. I’ve been working this job for a couple weeks now, I’ve adjusted.”

“That’s why you’ve been so tired and irritable.” 

“We need the money, bud.” Bucky tucked Steve into another side hug. “Get some more sleep while I’m gone.” Steve looked at his friend with a pout on his face, but quickly realized it was futile to try and stop him. Bucky did what he had to to make sure Steve was okay, and Steve was grateful for it, but worried about what Bucky put himself through. 

The next morning, gladly, a Saturday, Steve awoke to a bright light shining through the window, namely, the sun. He grunted and rolled over, wanting to go back to sleep. His attempts were unnecessary, because no matter how he turned, the sun warmed his cold face and shone through his eyelids.

Bucky was, again, asleep, long legs hanging off of the armrest of the two person couch. Steve decided to let him sleep, and to make the both of them some breakfast, but quietly. Steve passed the cheap coffee table, not noticing the bottle of liquor sitting on the edge. He bumped it with his leg, and it fell to the ground, shattering and spilling all over the wooden floor. 

Shit, Steve thought as he scrambled to the kitchen to grab a towel.

“Steve?” Bucky questioned, sounding tired. Soon a loud bang resonated through the frantic Steve’s ears.

Steve came running back to see what the clamor was, and identified it as Bucky falling and hitting his head on the table. 

“God, Buck,” Steve whispered, trying not to laugh.

“Shut up, Stevie.”

“Are you okay?” Steve couldn’t help but laugh a bit, seeing how disoriented the always brave Bucky looked, defeated by a table and some alcohol. Steve’s hand reached out to Bucky, feeling the back of his head where he had made contact with the table. When he pulled away, his fingers were tinted crimson.

“Guess not,” Bucky muttered, chuckling. “I guess that’s how strong I am, vanquished by a table.” Bucky took the other, non-bloody hand Steve gave to help him up. “You should get something to eat. I’ll take work on this.”

“Let me take care of you, at least once.” Bucky saw the desperation in his friend’s eyes and gave in, using Steve as an anchor to pull himself up. “Bucky, that doesn't look too good. How did you do that on a table?” 

“I was worried something had happened to you. I got up quickly. Someone had spilled my whiskey.” Steve looked down in dismay. “I’m not mad. I wasn’t when I saw it, and I’m not now. No reason to fret. I'd forgive you for just about anything.”

“Almost anything? You big ol’ sap. C’mon, you’re bleeding.” Steve started blushing when he turned around, hand still clasped around Bucky’s. He was in too deep.

Bucky sat on the bathroom counter, head over the sink so that he didn’t bleed on the floor. Steve took the towel he was going to use on the alcohol spill and placed it against his friend’s wound. 

“Go eat now,” Bucky said, hand laying on top of Steve’s on the towel. 

“I’d rather just stand here with you.”

“Why?”

“I enjoy your company, believe it or not.” Bucky looked down at his lap.

“You’re killing me here, Stevie.” Bucky laughed when Steve blushed at the nickname. “God, you know you’re adorable, don’t you?” Bucky quickly looked up, eyes widening as he realized what he had said. Steve himself looked taken aback, because there was no way that Bucky could’ve meant that. Steve had instinct, though, and decided to follow it.

“You’re, uh, not bad lookin, uh, yourself.” Bucky and Steve met eyes, worrying about the expression that the other had, and whether it contained anger, or literally any other emotion. Both faces were full of fear and confusion over the face that they were flirting, and Steve’s amazing delivery of his line. 

“Compared to you, yeah, I am.” Bucky generally had a filter when it came to talking to Steve, because he could never, never, let him know how he felt, but something let all of that slip. Whether it was the amount of pain he was in (a lot), or the fact that he flirted with Steve and he flirted back, which had Bucky’s head spinning more than normal and heart pounding like he had taken a five mile run.

“That’s not true. I’m scrawny and short, and you’re just, well, wow.” Bucky narrowed his eyes once again as he saw that this was actually happening. “You get all the ladies. I can’t even get one.”

“Well, I’m not a lady, but you most certainly hooked me.” Steve looked slightly uncomfortable, mainly because this was all foreign to him. “But please, do go on about how attractive I am. I like hearing it from you.” 

“I, uh,” Steve stammered as his friend smiled coyly at him from his elevated spot on the counter. “I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I.”

“Not to me, Stevie.” Steve’s eyes widened even more, if that was even possible, and Bucky dropped the towel. “Go by what you feel is right. If you’re not feeling it, then it’s not right. Stop second guessing yourself. Nothing you do could ever be wrong to me.”

Bucky slid off of the counter as Steve stepped forward, two hearts that had been longing for so long finally admitting what they felt, and one mind controlling what they knew was, well, right. The taller man looked into Steve’s eyes, a final last inquiry for consent. Eyes full of fear, but overwhelming longing showed Bucky that yes, he was ready. Bucky leaned in and Steve put a hand on his chest.

“Buck, I really want to, but,” Bucky cut him off.

“But what? You really want to but then you stop me?” Bucky was understandably, kind of pissed.

“You should’ve let me finish,” Steve muttered quietly, making the taller man feel bad about his outburst. “I’ve never kissed anyone before, and I really, really like you, and I don’t want to screw this up, and --” Bucky had heard enough. His eyes slipped shut as he grasped Steve’s face, pulling him in, awkwardly, but neither of them cared to try and reposition.

“Just copy me,” the tall man whispered, connecting their lips lightly. The sensation was completely new to both of them. Steve felt like he was on fire, but it was a great burn, a pain that he knew he loved, because it was caused by someone he loved unconditionally. The cuts on his lips stung, but those were forgotten as Bucky placed a hand on the small of his back and pulled him in deeper. The height difference made everything kind of weird, but neither cared as Bucky sunk down slightly to be closer to Steve’s height. 

They eventually had to break away from each other, faces pale but also crimson, hearts beating fast, but the world moving in slow motion, breaths being taken in gulps, but no oxygen seeming to reach their dazed brains. 

“Bucky,” Steve whispered.

“Shit,” Bucky said. “I wanted to do that, but I should’ve asked, and I should’ve told you exactly what I was going to do, and --”

“Seriously, Buck, don’t worry. I’ve been wanting to do that for so long, I just could never bring myself to.” Steve grabbed the towel and wrapped it around Bucky’s head, fastening it with a knot. He proceeded to wash his hands, dragging his friend’s larger ones into the mix of running water, knowing that they probably had residual blood from his head wound. “That’s better. We should sit down.”

Once they got out onto the couch and Bucky sat down, Steve climbed on his lap and kissed him again, this time having the advantage of their height distance as he straddled the other and knelt above him.

“Didn’t know that this is what you meant when you said come out to the couch,” Bucky said with an audible smirk in his voice.

“Oh shut up, Barnes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Love me some hurt comfort am i right or what


End file.
